


Lonely Boy

by Smooty



Series: Good Omens [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crying, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Pining, Touch-Starved, after the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: It was a month after the Apoca-wasn’t, and Aziraphale was beginning to notice something was different about Crowley. Things had been great at first. They went for lunch every day, sometimes transitioning into dinner and drinks. They talked about everything and anything, but especially about the times during history when they’d been apart. Aziraphale took great pleasure in filling Crowley in on all the delicacies he’d missed during his Big Nap, and Crowley had more than enough stories of debauchery and galavanting to fill the empty spaces between the angel’s rants. It had all been very quaint and very comfortable, or so Azriraphale had thought.





	Lonely Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at Our-Smooty on Tumblr

It was a month after the Apoca-wasn’t, and Aziraphale was beginning to notice something was different about Crowley. Things had been great at first. They went for lunch every day, sometimes transitioning into dinner and drinks. They talked about everything and anything, but especially about the times during history when they’d been apart. Aziraphale took great pleasure in filling Crowley in on all the delicacies he’d missed during his Big Nap, and Crowley had more than enough stories of debauchery and galavanting to fill the empty spaces between the angel’s rants. It had all been very quaint and very comfortable, or so Azriraphale had thought. 

He’d noticed it just two weeks after the End of the World. They were having breakfast at the most lovely little bistro, he had the eggs benedict while Crowley stuck to coffee and a few biscuits. As usual, Aziraphale was doing most of the talking while Crowley watched on, nodding or adding a short quip here of there. The bistro was cramped and so was their table, so it wasn’t surprising that during a particularly exciting story about a tiramisu the angle knocked over his cup of tea straight into Crowley’s lap. 

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale cried, leaping up, napkin already in hand. Crowley didn’t react much more than a slight pulling back, his hands raised to avoid the splash. As a demon, the heat of the tea couldn’t harm him any more than hellfire. He did react, however, when Arziraphel began fussing with the napkin, trying to press it into the boiling tea and sop it up. The demon quickly yanked the napkin from his hands, their fingers brushing lightly. To Aziraphel it was mildly pleasant, like touching Crowley had always been, but judging by the way the demon jerked away like the touch had burned him, the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. 

“Let me do it!” he’d hissed, wiping at his own leather trousers with the napkin and making sure not to make eye contact with the angel. Aziraphale drew back immediately, though he still hovered, wanting to help but knowing the other wouldn’t appreciate it. Crowley wasn’t exactly an affectionate person outside of when they were drinking. And even then he was guarded, only allowing the briefest press of their shoulders, or a quick, brisk hug. Of course, Aziraphale knew this, they’d known each other for 6000 years. But he’d never seen Crowley react like  _ that _ . Maybe he’d been imagining things?

Curiosity got the better of him, and Aziraphale decided to push a little further. Reaching out he put his hand gently on Crowley’s shoulder, just the barest of touches. Again, the demon reacted near-violently, jerking his shoulder away from the touch. There was no way he’d imagined that a second time. Something was wrong with Crowley. 

“Terribly sorry.” Crowley was still patting half-heartedly at his shirt and trousers, though the tea had mostly soaked in by then. It looked more like he was stalling, avoiding the moment when he’d have to sit down and look at his dining partner again. And was that a shake to his hands? Aziraphale knew he should do something, but he found himself paralyzed.

Crowley finally tossed the napkin down on the table and flopped back into his chair, folding sharply to rest his elbows on the table, his head bowed. “Shut up,” he croaked, wrapping his long fingers around his own cup of coffee, not drinking but just soaking up the warmth. 

“But--you--what was all that about!” Aziraphale stuttered, being careful to keep his gesturing to a safe proximity. 

“Drop it, your eggs are getting cold.” His cup was refilled with tea too, Crowley's attempt at distracting him most likely. He was still speaking into his cup, his expression blank and hidden behind his glasses. Aziraphale had no idea what else to say or do, so he did as ordered, returning to his plate with little of his original zeal. The dish didn’t taste as is had prior to the spill, but that was silly. Nothing had changed, surely. So it must have all been his imagination. 

When they’d finished--with much less discussion than before--Aziraphale miracle up a few notes to pay the bill and they left. Though they’d met here from separate places, he was hoping they’d head back to the bookshop together, just for a few drinks. He had found a few scrolls in his collection from Ancient Rome that made reference to a ‘great serpent, firey and conniving’, which he rather thought the demon would get a kick out of. But as Crowley drove them to the bookshop, he was quiet. And when Aziraphale got out of the car, he did not follow, only waving shortly then driving off. The angel watched the car go, a look of confused sadness on his face.

* * *

A week after the Brunch Incident, as he’d taken to thinking about it, there had been another problem. After a few days of no contact, Crowley had shown up at the bookshop like nothing had happened, lurking around and messing up the angel’s shelves. Aziraphale had thought a lot about that day at the bistro, about what he’d seen and what he should have done. Unfortunately, all his intended questions and comforts fell flat when faced with the object of his thoughts. So they acted like everything was fine. Except that it wasn’t. 

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk piecing together the fragments of a particularly interesting old tome. The angel leaned back and away from his work for the first time in a few hours, passing a hand over his eyes. If he could have a headache from eye strain, he would. Laying his hands in his lap Aziraphale glanced toward the chair in the corner where Crowley had been when he’d last looked up. It was empty, as was the wine bottle on the side table. The accompanying glass was missing too, which made his apprehension rise. 

“Crowley?” he called softly. It had gotten dark in the bookshop while he’d been focused, and there was barely any light. “Crowley dear?” Aziraphale had never been afraid of the dark, he was an  _ angel _ after all, but it still felt ominous. 

Turning lights on as he went, he checked the entire shop. Crowley was nowhere to be found. He checked the back storeroom as well; still nothing. Aziraphale came to the conclusion that Crowley must have gotten bored and left some time ago, but not before finishing his last good bottle of red from the 1930s. 

A little disappointed, the angel moved up the stairs and into his private quarters. They were nothing special, especially compared to the bookshop. But they’d been his for quite a long time and he’d become attached to them, something he’d always denied until the world didn’t end. He realized that there was a light on, the one in the sitting room. Though he was a bit scatterbrained at times, Aziraphale  _ never _ forgot to turn the lights off. He was a proud promoter of green living, most of the time. 

“Crowley?” There was a shape on the couch, hunched over and dark against the warm tones of the upholstery. It had to be him, if it was anyone else Aziraphale would have noticed their arrival. Only Crowley came and went so often that it all felt the same to him when he used his angelic senses. He didn’t look like he was in good shape, empty bottles littering the floor around his feet. Some of Aziraphale’s best stock, if the labels were correct. But that didn’t matter so much when he saw the demon’s face. 

“My dear, what are you doing up here all alone?” he asked quietly, taking a few cautious steps towards the other. Crowley didn’t react, didn’t so much as shrug from where he was curled on the sofa. Aziraphale inched closer, finally sitting beside the demon, their shoulders brushing. That did get a reaction out of Crowley and he jerked to the side to avoid any more touching. 

“W-what?” he gasped drunkenly, almost falling off the sofa. Aziraphale reached out to steady his friends but stopped when he saw Crowley flinch again. All he could do was sit there as the other man righted himself, still avoiding eye contact. At least his glasses were off, tossed carelessly on the coffee table, but that just meant Aziraphale could see the sadness and despair in Crowley’s eyes. 

“Crowley, you’re scaring me,” the angel pleaded. Everything inside him was screaming to comfort, to coddle and give assurances but how could he do that if he didn’t know what was wrong? Not to mention the fact he couldn’t even get near the other. Crowley managed to seat himself on the sofa properly again and grabbed for a half-full bottle from the floor. “Crowley!”

“Sss’fine,” the demon slurred, spilling more wine than he actually got in his mouth. “M’fine.”

“You most certainly are not!” Aziraphale admonished, making to grab for the bottle. Crowley dodged with the grace of the far too drunk and sloshed red wine all over the upholstery. “Crowley give me the bottle.”

“Nah. I need it,” Crowley garbled, holding the bottle tighter. “I don’t wanna…”

He trailed off, but Aziraphale said nothing, hoping he would keep going. His patience was rewarded after a few moments. “I jussss’... d’you know that--that I couldn’t live with m’ssself if--if you--”

“If I what, my dear?” Aziraphale pushed, resisting the urge to put a hand on the other’s shoulder. But Crowley was too far gone to be making much sense.

“Not you, you’re good--really good. Ssso good it makes me want to--want to  _ do ssssomething _ !” Clearly, he wouldn’t be getting any answers tonight. Not unless he could convince the demon to sober up, which seemed unlikely. 

“Why don’t you lie down, dear. We can talk about this in the morning,” Aziraphale offered. It wouldn’t be the first time the demon occupied his bed, though not in the way the angel may have liked. He wasn’t afraid to admit his attraction to Crowley now that they were divested of their responsibilities to Heaven and Hell. But now wasn’t the time to think of such things, with how Crowley was wavering and wobbling on the sofa, clearly distressed. 

“Don’t wanna…” Crowley moaned, clutching the bottle to his chest. “Room’s ssssspinning.”

“I’ll help you, here.” Aziraphale reached out, offering his arm to the demon. Not his hand, which he was sure would make the other flinch away, but his arm, covered in a coat and undershirt. He hoped it was enough to make Crowley feel safe enough to make the necessary contact. “Come, dear. I’ll show you to the bed.”

Crowley stared at the offered arm, then glanced up to the angel’s face. There was a look of confusion and maybe a little fear playing over Crowley’s features that Aziraphale knew would have been hidden if the other wasn’t so drunk. It took all of his willpower not to extend a hand to touch Crowley’s face, to smooth away the lines of worry and sadness. It would only make things worse. 

Miraculously, Crowley took the offered arm, putting the barest of pressure on it to haul himself into a standing position. Aziraphale could only watch as he stumbled and fell to a knee, unable to help without making things worse. Eventually, Crowley managed to right himself and take the angel’s arm again, allowing him to lead them--slowly--to the bedroom. It was an arduous feat for Aziraphale, avoiding touching the demon as much as possible while trying to keep him from falling face-first into the wall. Finally, they reached the bed, and Aziraphale let Crowley fall into the soft, downy, cream sheets. 

“Let me get your jacket and shoes, darling.” Crowley didn’t respond so Aziraphale went ahead, hanging the jacket in his closet and setting the shoes beside the bed neatly. He would have taken off Crowley’s trousers and shirt but he didn’t know how the demon would react, so he left it. Instead he pulled the blankets up to cover the other’s form and keep him warm, though with Crowley being cold-blooded he knew the blankets wouldn’t help much. When he was finished he allowed himself a few moments to admire Crowley’s soft sleeping face, so much less tight and guarded than when he was awake.

Normally when Crowley slept over, Aziraphale left him to it. The angel didn’t sleep very often, so it was no trouble for him to spend the night with a good book in his living room while the demon took the bed. But leaving him alone in such a state felt wrong, dangerous even. So with only the briefest of hesitations, Aziraphale stepped around to the other side of the bed and sat. 

He kept a collection of books at his bedside for the rare occasion he did want to sleep, and it was no problem miracle-ing a set of soft, linen sleeping clothes. Crowley’s limbs were splayed out awkwardly, but there was enough space for Aziraphale to settle in comfortably with barely any contact with the other. Only his arm and Crowley’s hand were touching, but he decided to allow it, the closeness giving him some comfort. 

He was extraordinarily worried for the demon now. Not that he hadn’t been before, but he hadn’t seen Crowley like this since… well the last time had been after WWII. All the senseless killing, all the destruction, it had affected the demon with an intensely dark force. Crowley had bounced back after a few years, but it had been a time of great worry for the angel.

Taking one of the books from the pile into his lap, Aziraphale began to read, trying to take his mind off his comatose friend. He stayed like that until morning, and then mid-afternoon, glancing furtively at Crowley every few minutes, just to make sure he was alright. Occasionally he would set his book aside and just watch Crowley sleep, feeling the weight of him beside him. 

When it was clear the other would be sleeping for a lot longer than Aziraphale could stand to be in one place, the angel relented and went down to the shop, did some inventory, and popped out to pick up some light snacks for them to share later. When he came home and checked his bedroom the bed was empty, still messy but definitely missing the familiar shape of Crowley under the covers. A shot of panic went through him as he hurried to the bedside, checking for a note, something to tell him where Crowley had gone. 

What he got instead was the shock of his life. Upon coming up to the bedside the angel realized the bed was in fact, not empty, but filled by a medium-sized, black and red snake. 

“Oh my!” It had been a very,  _ very _ long time since he’d caught a glimpse of Crowley’s snake form, and even longer still since he’d had the chance to really look. And now here he was, in all his demonic glory, snuggled up in Aziraphale’s own bed. If he hadn’t been so concerned, he may have blushed. “Are you awake?”

The snake coiled tighter, burrowing its head under the pillows. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief--he’d had the secret fear this may turn into another one of Crowley’s long naps. They tended to happen after they had an argument, but it wasn’t uncommon for it to also happen when Crowley was struggling with something. The angel was grateful Crowley hadn’t felt the need to sleep through it this time, even if he was in snake form. 

“Oh good, you are. I picked up a few treats from that little bakery down the road, but I’m afraid they may not appeal to you when you’re like this.” It was a simple test, an olive branch. An excuse for Crowley to turn back into his human form if he wanted. The fact that he stayed as a snake, that he trusted Aziraphale enough to let his guard down in this way, gave the angel hope. 

“Did you sleep well, dear?” He felt ineffectual, standing at his own bedside, talking to his sheets. The snake spoked it’s snoot out from between the pillows and sort of tilted its head; he’d take that for a sort of shrug, then. “Well, that’s… that’s good? I--” Why was he such a stuttering, bumbling fool? 

“I mean to say that, well I’d like to talk about last night. If you don’t mind. And if you are feeling up to it.” The look snake-Crowley gave him was definitely one of “I do mind, very much so”, but Aziraphale kept going. “I’m just--I’m  _ worried _ Crowley. About you. About us.”

Crowley dug his head back into the covers, coiling tighter around himself. There was room at the side of the matress so Aziraphale sat carefully, making sure not to encroach on the demon’s space, but also desperately wanting to provide comfort. 

“You won’t let me touch you, you’re drinking alone. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping, the bags under your eyes are  _ horrendous _ darling,” he said in a rush. “You won’t talk to me.”

“I thought… well, I thought that after that business with the End of the World,” he tipped his shoulder towards the serpent, a slight smile on his face which faded quickly, “we were past all that.”

He worried the edges of the comforter between his fingers. “If it’s something I did, please know that I didn’t mean to upset you, Crowley. I would never--not on purpose--”

A slight, barely-there brush against his hand. The soft scales of Crowley’s tail-tip coming into contact with his pinky and curling around. The most the demon had willingly touched him since the Apocolypse, barring the night before. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s answer more than hear it through the point where they touched.  _ It issssn’t you. _

“Then what, dearest?” He took a risk and turned his hand over, allowing Crowley’s tail to rest on his palm. “Is it Downstairs? Have the done something?”

Crowley hissed in a way that could have only been a sigh. Aziraphale felt bad for babbling, for making everything worse, but he was stuck. It was up to Crowley to take the next step, before the angel could do anything more. Luckily, it seemed Crowley understood that, because his snake form twisted around until his head was in Azriraphale’s hand, nosing gently against each finger then moving up to coil around his arm. His scales felt cool against the angel’s skin, but he didn’t mind. 

For a few minutes, Crowley got comfortable while Aziraphale waited. The snake wound it’s way up his arm, to his shoulder, and around his neck and back before stopping with his head under the angel’s chin. Aziraphale stayed very still, letting Crowley do whatever he needed to. He trusted the demon completely. 

_ I’m sssssorry,  _ Crowley said, his voice echoing inside the angel’s head like the rustle of grass under his serpentine belly. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, darling,” Aziraphale answered, running his fingers along iridescent black scales. Crowley’s snake form was beautiful, he’d always admired it. But he’d never been so close before, had never been able to see the way the scales reflected and bounced light in a beautiful shimmer of deep purlples and blues. The red wasn’t just red but orange and yellow and a thousand other colours that reminded him of the heat of the sun.

“Can’t you tell me what’s wrong? Unless I am… misreading the changes in our relationship and overstepping. If that is the case I’m terribly sorry, dear.” Oh, he hoped he wasn’t wrong. Though they hadn’t said anything to each other, Aziraphale had thought nothing  _ needed _ to be said. It seemed he may have misjudged Crowley’s understanding.

_ No _ ,  _ it’ssss not that, _ Crowley sounded so tired.  _ I’m… sssscared angle. _

“Scared of what, my love?” He felt Crowley’s muscles constrict as the word slipped out, but he didn’t take it back. 

_ What if… What if you Fall? Becaussse of me?  _ Crowley nosed against his jaw, his forked tongue darting out lightly against his skin.  _ We got lucky… You could ssstill Fall, for being with me. _

A moment of silence before Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, would you do me the favour of turning back into your other form?” he asked calmly, still stroking the demon’s back. He waited quite patiently as Crowley thought, then slowly transformed back into something vaguely man-shaped. “Thank you.”

“Make it quick,” Crowley said lowly, a pinched expression on his face. “Not exactly in the mood to keep this up, my head is killing me.”

“Yes, of course my dear. I just wanted to be able to look into your eyes properly for a moment.” His lap was full of Crowley now, dressed in rumpled pyjamas and looking bleary-eyed. Using the hand not supporting Crowley’s back, Aziraphale tilted the demon’s chin so they were face to face. For a moment he admired those sharp cheekbones and golden eyes, up close for the first time. 

“Sometime today, angle?” Crowley’s tone was resigned almost like he expected something terrible. Aziraphale didn’t want to keep him thinking that any longer. 

“Crowley my dear, my heart. I couldn’t Fall for loving you now. Not when I’ve loved you for so long already,” he explained, running his fingers against that strong jaw. Crowley tried to shy away, to wiggle out of the angel’s grasp but Aziraphale wouldn’t allow it. 

“You don’t--you can’t know that!” Crowley protested, still struggling. “Not for sure and I won’t risk it Aziraphale! Can’t you feel it? Every time I touch you--I’m  _ dirty _ ,  _ tainted, damned-- _ ”

“Crowley, stop!” Aziraphale said sternly, placing both his hands on the demon’s shoulders to center him. “Listen, dear boy. I’m afraid too. But I love you, and I have loved you for millennia, and I will not stop loving you now that--that I can finally have you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

The demon scoffed, though it sounded distinctly like a barely-averted sob. “If I’ll have you--of course angel! You can have me, all of me. Please--”

Aziraphale smiled, thousands of years of tension leaking out of his very soul. It felt like biting into a particularly good apple tart or closing the bookshop after a long day of battling against customers and collectors. It felt like things coming together to fit just right, like the way their lips slotted together at that moment. Crowley made a sound like he was in pain, but only pulled the other closer. Aziraphale could feel him shaking, the poor thing, so he pulled the covered up around them, breaking the kiss for only a moment. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, pressing kisses to his jaw and neck. Each kiss was a prayer, an entire lifetime of emotions summed up in the press of skin against skin.  _ I love you, I’m sorry, I need you. _

“My demon, my love. I have you now, it’s going to be OK.” Though he couldn’t know for sure, Aziraphale was nearly certain he was right. After all, one couldn’t  _ really _ hide their intentions from the Almighty, and Aziraphale had been thinking of Crowley in  _ that _ way for quite some time. If She wanted to smite him or make him Fall for loving Crowley, then so be it. As long as he got to be with the other, it didn’t matter. 

Crowley was now more crying than kissing, his face wet and screwed up and red. Aziraphale ran a hand through the demon’s flaming hair, feeling quite overwhelmed himself. His unexpected burst of confidence in the face of Crowley’s fear was waning, but that too would be alright because he had Crowley in his arms and they were together, finally. 

* * *

6 months after the Apoca-not, Aziraphale noticed something was  _ really _ different about Crowley. It hadn’t all happened at once. There were little changes every day. At first, Crowley would barely let Aziraphel out of his reach, hanging off the angel like he hadn’t spent an entire month (and to a lesser extream, millennia) avoiding his touch. Then he’d allow Aziraphale to leave him, but only as long as he stayed within viewing distance. Aziraphale didn’t mind too much, because he was also afraid to leave the demon along, scared those horrible negative thoughts would come back and smother him once again. 

Eventually, it was more or less agreed upon that Crowley would move into the bookshop. He brought along with him his plants, that frankly ridiculous throne, and a few nicknacks that he’d collected over the years. Aziraphale expanded the flat on top of the shop to include an office, and a rooftop terrace for the plants--something that had made Crowley nearly tear up in appreciation. In return, Crowley had conceded to keeping the angel’s fluffy, overstuffed bed, and to keep the shouting down to a minimum when he was gardening. 

Finally, they reached a point where Crowley could be up on the roof tending to his plants while Aziraphale attended to the bookshop, or ran out to pick up lunch. The angel started spending entire nights in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes just holding Crowley through the quiet nights. Crowley spent his time when he wasn’t gardening driving the Bently around the countryside and lounging about the bookshop. Occasionally he’d use a wile to deter a particularly insistent customer, which was always rewarded by a thankful glance from the angel. They’d settled down into a routine, something comfortable and safe. 

It was 6 months to the day, and Aziraphale hadn’t opened the shop. In fact, he intended not to open shop for an entire week. Crowley was still asleep, as he usually was before noon which had given Aziraphale enough time to get together the perfect setup for this anniversary. Or it would have been perfect if the demon hadn’t woken up an entire hour early and seen the tail end of the preparation. 

“What’s all this then, angel?” he asked, stepping carefully into the tiny kitchenette that had rarely been used for real cooking. The table was laid out with all of their favourites, scones with jam and good strong coffee; bagels with lox and all the other fixings and fresh-squeezed orange juice. There was music in the background, one of the Best of Queen CD’s from the Bently. Crowley hadn’t realized the angel even owned a CD player. 

“Oh, Crowley! You startled me!” Aziraphale felt his cheeks go red as he thought of the mess in the kitchen behind him. He’d made everything he could by hand, though some things like the jam, lox, and bagels had been too far out of his skill-set. With his hands behind his back he snapped, using a miracle to clean everything up right as Crowley rounded the corner. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s brow furrowed and his hands began to shift around in his pockets. He looked worried, which was a strange reaction to have to being surprised with breakfast, but Aziraphale had expected this. Crowley always disasterized, always went one step too far into his own head.

“Nothing bad, dearest, let me assure you!” Aziraphale gestured for him to sit down, then sat in the opposite chair. “It’s been six months, that’s all. Since we.” He waved between them with a careless hand. “I thought we could celebrate.”

“Oh,” Crowley deadpanned, but he had forgotten to put his glasses on and Aziraphale could see the joy spark in his eyes. “Is that strawberry-rhubarb jam, angel?”

“Of course. And the scones are the same recipe as those ones we had--”

“In Northumbria, yes. 750 AD, right after all that kerfuffle with that King Eadberht guy.”

“On the money,” Aziraphale praised, taking his preferred poppy-seed bagel and begining to layer up toppings. “And the bagels are from that bakery down on Main, the one you did that miracle in for me.”

It was Crowley’s turn to go red, the tips of his ears blushing madly. “Not really a miracle if I cursed all their competitors, is it?”

“Well, the owner was able to make enough money to pay for that advanced prosthetic for his daughter, so I’d at least call it a misdeed with good intentions,” he teased, sipping his orange juice. It was nice, seeing Crowley unguarded and happy like this. Such a huge change from The End and even before that. “So, how is it then? I hope the scones aren’t too dry…”

“Wait, did you make these angel?” Crowley’s eyes are wide and he’s suddenly looking at the scone with mock-fear. Aziraphale scoffed. 

“Oh come off it. I can cook well enough, thank you very much!” Crowley laughed--another thing he hadn’t done too often before and the sound was like church bells and ash--and took another scone. 

“I’m only joking, Aziraphale.” Oh and the way he said his name was like a caress. It smoothed out any and all ruffled feathers in the wings hidden between space behind him. It made him smile back because he was so in love it was impossible to resist. 

“So,” Crowley stretched back in his chair, bending his back at impossible angles to get all the kinks out, “do we have plans for the rest of the day?”

The angel dabbed at his lips with a napkin, setting his other hand on his belly. “Well, I thought we could go for a ride in the Bently, maybe go up to Tadfield and stay a bit. Or not, if you’d prefer not to revisit--”

Crowley leaned across the table and planted a kiss on Aziraphale’s lips, his hands falling to the angel’s forearms. “Sounds great, angel. Tickity-Boo, even.”

“Tickity-Boo indeed,” he mumbled back against the demon’s lips, taking a mental inventory of the easy way Crowley touched him now. Aziraphale wasn’t the biggest fan of change, but he found that he rather enjoyed these ones, since they made Crowley so happy. 


End file.
